


Anna's Day Out

by BelovedShadow



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 20:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5942247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelovedShadow/pseuds/BelovedShadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>HOMRA takes Anna out for a day at the carnival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anna's Day Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cjoycoolio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjoycoolio/gifts).



**\- Izumo Kusanagi -**

It had been Totsuka, and not Anna, to show the most excitement over the day’s plans. This was, however, something that surprised _no one_. The lanky man had arrived at HOMRA a massive two _hours_ earlier than was necessary, hands weighed down immensely by brown paper bags – the contents of which had Kusanagi rather nervous. This was, naturally, up until he discovered them to be harmless in comparison to many of the other things known to accompany his clansmen into the bar. As they were, after all – _groceries._

Four loaves of bread, several varying pounds of deli meat and cheeses – a full jar of mayonnaise, two heads of lettuce, a bag of perfectly ripened tomatoes, and individual personalized hard-plastic water bottles; which were all empty.

“ _You’re_ handling drinks – for obvious reasons.” Tatara explained, laying out the bread and getting to work on the obscene amount of sandwiches that were soon to take over HOMRA’s kitchen.

Izumo picked up one of the containment devices, this one colored a fiery crimson red, and examined it, gazing idly down at the poorly-drawn Puff Paint imagery of a thorny rose, and the much more well designed placement of foam press-on letters spelling out ‘Anna’.

“What, you want me to mix a ten year old a cocktail?” He asked somewhat tauntingly, “This is a _bar_ , Totsuka – not a juicing emporium. There’s no way I have enough non-alcoholic beverages on hand for all of these bottles.”

Pouting, the younger man bit his lip in thought – nodding affirmatively about some silent conclusion he had yet to share, and then pulling out his PDA to compose what Izumo would soon discover to be a _group message_ (which he detested).

                                **New Message –** _Totsuka Tatara:_  
                                                Good Morning, everyone ^.^ Hope you’re all ready for a great day  
_out with our resident princess! Everyone please meet at the bar_  
_by 11 o’clock sharp, so we can make it to the carnival by noon._  
_Also, if it’s not too much trouble – could someone come early_  
_and bring at least three gallons of non-alcoholic beverages?_  
_Thanks, guys! Today’s gonna be GREAT!_

Kusanagi read over the text and then sighed, looking at his now absurdly-proud friend.

“This is your solution? Ask someone else to do it?” He inquired.

Totsuka merely shrugged, still looking rather encouraged, and walked over to the refrigerator pulling out two jars – one of peanut butter, and the other of jam. He also managed to produce two large Tupperware’s of cold chicken salad, a huge bowl of assorted fruits – already chopped and mixed up – and from the cabinet _above_ the fridge, he withdrew an enormous variety chips snack assortment.

“I’ve been shopping for today _all week_.” He squeaked, “Everyone’s been so nice with pitching in so I could afford to pay for everything… I really do have the _best_ family anyone could ask for.”

Izumo was momentarily distracted from Tatara’s starry-eyed proclamations of affection when both of their PDA’s buzzed at the same time. Must have been the group message.

                                **New Message** __ **–** Yata Misaki:  
No problem, Totsuka-San! I’ll be there in twenty minutes with drinks  
_and help you with lunch._

Reading the incoming text did not encourage Tatara to desist from his teary adoration. Then again, he probably didn’t understand that these things _annoyed_ Izumo. Yes, HOMRA was an amazing support group – but that was a given at this point. There was no reason in wasting time treating everyone like they were giving you something special when this was how things were day after day around here. Everyone helped out and cared about each other – and yes, Tatara received more than he gave when it came to financial assistance but there was no one better equipped when it came to the _emotional_ turmoil’s of their clansmen, so even the smallest of coins spent on him were constantly refunded as far as Izumo was concerned. He just wished Tatara could _see_ that for himself.

“I think you’d better go wake King.” The impromptu-chef suggested, carefully cutting each of the sandwiches he’d made into triangles.

It did take some effort for Izumo not to whine about how _he_ shouldn’t always have to be the one to do it, but he obediently exited the kitchen and adjourned to the second floor. When both Mikoto and Anna were sleeping, this level of the building tended to take on a bit of an eerie silence.

The closer you got to Suoh’s room, the more eerie it got. No one wanted to wake the sleeping lion, after all.

When a gentle knock did nothing at all as far as receiving a response from the red-head’s bedroom, Izumo slowly opened the door, peering inside and waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

“Oi!” He called out, keeping his distance, “We’re taking Anna to the carnival today, so get up!”

The thing about it was that Mikoto wasn’t really a _hard sleeper_ per se, he was just _violent_ upon _waking_.

Kusanagi paid no mind at all to the literally _flaming_ pillow that was chucked aggressively in his general direction – catching it in his hands before it could damage his walls, and smothering out the flames with his own mildly-more-gentle aura.

“C’mon, Suoh – move your ass!”

Mikoto sat up seemingly for the sole purpose of glaring at his second-in-command. Izumo tossed him a morning cigarette for his efforts, watched him light it and inhale – then exited the room with a soft smirk on his face. Lazy bastard would be up and moving in no time.

Next stop: Anna.

The princess doubtlessly resided in the most lavish room in the bar. To Izumo, when it came to their little girl, no expense was to be spared. While she didn’t ever ask for much – it was hard to resist spoiling her. She was so _cute_ and also had been through so much. She deserved more than material indulgences, but it was a damn good start, and if she so happened to have a rather _lavish_ sleeping area done up in all of her favorite shades of red, then so be it.

He found her dozing peacefully atop her wine-toned duvet, night gown bunched up under her knees and hair sprawled out across the pillows. As was normally the case with the hyper-sensitive child, her eyes blinked open just after he was walking in the door.

“Izumo?” She asked, somewhat groggily. She sat up in bed, crisscrossed, and rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her hand, “Is it time to get up now?”

“Yep!” He answered, cheerfully, “Totsuka’s downstairs getting everything ready for the carnival, and everyone will be here in about forty-five minutes, so you have some time to get dressed and ready.”

She nodded along, and reached over to her end-table, peering thoughtfully into one of her marbles and smiling.

“Misaki’s here, you should go unlock the back door.” With that, the petite girl pushed herself up and out of bed, footsteps remarkably silent when she maneuvered herself over to her wardrobe, opening it with a soft _click_ and revealing a large assortment of dresses and gowns.

“Roger that,” Kusanagi affirmed, leaving her to get dressed. Walking down the hall he was relieved to hear the sound of movement from behind Mikoto’s door. Good. He’d been concerned that further momentum would be required to rouse the lazy king. Of course – quiet as it was kept – Suoh _did_ have a thorough compulsion to avoid disappointing Anna at all costs. Even another hour of sleep.

**\- Misaki Yata -**

By the time Yata had made it to HOMRA from the local market, his arms were aggravatingly sore. With one gallon of lemonade balanced precariously between his feet on his skateboard, and the other two in his hands – he waited somewhat impatiently for someone to get the door, not wanting to fool his muscles by putting the drinks down only to pick them right back up.

 “Kusanagi-San!” He called out, kicking at the metal of the industrial style entry, and almost losing his balance. Next time Totsuka-San asked for _three_ large items, hopefully he would recall the universal human error of only _two_ hands with which to transport things.

Moments later, the easily identifiable sound of locks turning into place proclaimed that someone was there to let him in.

“Took ya long enough…” He grumbled, thrusting the two gallons in his hand (one fruit punch and the other orange juice) against his superior’s chest, and rolling the remaining bottle of lemonade over the threshold. “Where’s Totsuka-San?”

“Kitchen,” Izumo answered, a light smile dancing at the corners of his lips.

“What?” Yata asked, narrowing his eyes at the elder man’s semi-smug expression.

“You’re not wearing a hat.” The blond replied, now displaying a full-on grin.

“Fuck off…” The skateboarder hissed, nudging the wheel-bound lemonade towards the kitchen with his foot. He had decided to forgo his signature beanie today for many reasons, varying in importance – and all strictly _classified_. “My hair was still wet from the shower when I was leavin’ and I didn’t want it to smell weird…” _(absolutely **not** one of the reasons) _

There was a moment when he reached the kitchen where he wondered if it was possible to transfer the lemonade from his skateboard to the counter without actually having to _lift_ it. Realizing the improbability of that particular feat, he gave a reluctant groan and hauled it onto the stainless-steel surface. _Damn_ that hurt. He must have pulled a nerve or something.

Eye inescapably drawn to the sight of his own name, Yata furrowed his brow in confusion and lifted up a strange plastic water bottle from the counter. It was covered in baseball bat stickers that looked like they were from a grocery store vending machine, and had his name written on it in poorly-written cursive. It looked like the Sharpie had been starting to lose ink after the ‘Y-A’ as the coloring that spelled out  ‘T-A’ was significantly less concentrated. More grey than black. It made him want to read it as a yell, and then a whisper – YA!... _ta_.

“The hell is this?” He asked, just as the creator of the strange item emerged from the pantry with hands full of brown paper lunch bags.

“Yata-Chan!” Tatara greeted, smiling, “You brought the juice!” He exclaimed, eyes twinkling as they darted from the lemonade to just above his forehead, “And you look so … _dapper_!”

“Shut up!” The teen snapped, blushing lightly and covering up his hair with his hands. This seriously sucked. He felt like his head was naked.

“He doesn’t own any towels,” Kusanagi mocked with a roll of the eye, only inspiring confusion from the brunet – who simply shook the statement off and began packing everyone’s lunches.

“Can I help you with that?” Yata asked, a bit at loss as far as what he should be doing. Kusanagi was making juice cocktails for them, so he was the only one left to just stand in the open space – which felt almost as strange as his missing headpiece.

“Yeah, thanks!” Tatara said with a small smile, “I’m done putting in the snacks now, but everyone has basically the same stuff for snacks, anyway and I’m sure we can all trade what kinda chips we got if we don’t like what’s in our own bag. Can you separate the sandwiches by type and put them in one of these?” He gestured towards all of the paper lunch bags that he’d stuffed with chips, fruit snacks, and pudding cups. “Oh, and label it! Then later, if someone wants roast beef, they can just grab a bag that says ‘RB’ or if they want peanut butter and jelly – ‘PB&J.’ Make sense?”

Nodding in understanding, Yata went to the junk drawer to find a marker, then returned to get started on Tatara’s labeling and sorting project. The hobbyist had moved on to the next task, which was packing up the rolling cooler with the Tupperware of chicken salad, the now-transferred-into-Tupperware fruit salad, several water-bottles, and ice. Then, gathering an assortment of paper plates and plastic forks, knives and spoons – and putting them in a canvas tote bag. Yata and Izumo finished their tasks at around the same time, and the cooler was left open for the juice-cocktails and lunch bags.

“Wait – put all the paper bags in a plastic garbage bag, or the ice’ll make ‘em get soggy.” Tatara reminded, handing over an industrial trash liner to the youngest man.

Obediently, Yata protected the paper lunch-sacs, then into the cooler they went, along with everything else. The canvas tote sat atop once it was shut, and then tied around the long handle, so it could be rolled along with the lot.

It was Tatara’s joyous exclamation of “ _King!_ ” That alerted Yata to Mikoto’s presence in the kitchen. Their leader looked a bit too tired for the sudden increase in volume, but resisted wincing – for which he deserved due credit. Not speaking to _any_ of them, he roamed over to the fridge, and opened it. Why it was that they all felt inclined to _watch_ him was a mystery, but it was after a full two minutes of silent observation that he spoke.

“Nothing.” He stated, presumably in reference to the contents of the refrigerator.

“Totsuka’s spent the last two hours making food,” Izumo promised, “So you can stop wasting my electricity by letting the door hang open like that.”

With half a nod, Mikoto stepped over to the cooler, shoving aside the tote, and opening it up. He took out two of the lunch bags, and the plastic bottle with his name on it – raising a brow in Tatara’s direction upon noticing the cartoon-faced smiling fireballs. In Yata’s opinion – those things were a bit _too_ enthusiastic about being set aflame.

“Don’t worry, King – I made way too many bag lunches for all of us! You can eat those two now and still have more later.”

Mikoto was completely unconcerned with his third-in-command’s reassurance. He shut the cooler and sat down on top of it, digging through the bag and frowning when he pulled out the little bag of fruit snacks. He seemed to be considering them for a moment, until with a one-shouldered shrug, he ripped open the bag and poured all of them into his mouth, chewing sloppily.

“Gross,” Izumo muttered, looking away. “Everyone should be arriving soon – I’ll be in the dining room.”

It always sounded strange on Yata’s ears when the main room of the bar was referred to as the _dining room_. He knew that technically speaking that’s what it was – but he just thought of it as _the_ _bar_. Probably because he didn’t live here and as such had minimal exposure to the rest of the establishment.

“Yata-Chan, could you go and check on Anna?” Tatara asked sweetly.

Easily agreeing, the chestnut-haired man exited the kitchen, barely catching the beginning of what Tatara had begun saying to Mikoto _‘Now, **King –** just what are we gonna do about…’ _

His voice drifted into silence by the time Yata had reached the second step from the bottom, and he was kind of glad for it. He had no idea what Mikoto and Tatara discussed in their private time together – and he honestly didn’t wanna know. Their entire relationship completely stumped him, as after a full eight months of trying to figure out if they were _together_ but being too afraid to just _ask_ – he’d reached _no conclusion_ one way or the other. Sure, Tatara was starry-eyed over his crimson-haired best friend, but Tatara was starry-eyed about damn near everything.

Yata had long ago decided to treat it as a need-to-know piece of information. And he did not need to know.

Taking extra care not to stomp up the steps, as he just _sensed_ that Kusanagi would have his ass for it, he wandered up to Anna’s room, and knocked three times on the door.

“You can come in, Misaki.” She called.

Opening the door and entering the room, he saw that she was seated at her vanity, marbles laid out over a hand-drawn map of Shizume City.

“I’m ready,” She explained without turning around, “I was just waiting for everyone else to get here before coming down.” Finally re-adjusting so that she could face him, she smiled softly, “Your hair is pretty.”

Grimacing, he narrowed his eyes at her – entirely ready to haul off into a screaming rage… until he took a closer look at sweet little Anna and her huge eyes and all-around adorable expression.

“Thanks.” He muttered, turning on his heel and marching back downstairs. This time – he stomped.

**\- Masaomi Dewa –**

It wasn’t so much that Dewa was a punctual person _morally_. Just that there was no point in being late when you could, adversely, be on time with a minimal amount of additional effort. This was a principle that he had tried drilling into Chitose’s head about two or three _thousand_ times, and for the first time – **ever –** it had worked.

“Doesn’t look like anyone else is even here yet.” He stated when he and his best friend walked into the front entrance of HOMRA. It had been unlocked, so Kusanagi was here _somewhere_ but not visibly.

“Yata said he’d get here early in the group chat, didn’t he?” Chitose asked, pulling out his PDA and flicking through messages. Masaomi couldn’t help but glance quickly own at the device himself and he noticeably flinched when his eyes caught a very provocative photo of a girl they’d met together two weeks prior.

“Why do you keep stuff like that on your phone? What if Anna saw it?” He asked, flopping down on the couch.

“Anna has her own lady-parts too, you know. I’m sure she’d survive.” The slightly older man responded, producing a cigarette from somewhere on his person and lighting it.

Several loud thumps and a furious shout of “Who the **FUCK** is torturing my stairs?!” Confirmed their suspected lack of solitude. How it was that Kusanagi heard the commotion of Yata’s angry gait from the basement storage room was a mystery, but he was back on ground-level in no time, grabbing the shorter man by the neck and hauling him into the air as he screamed directly at his face about _disrespect_ _for fine quality architecture_.

Yata, for his part, did not appear to be surprised _or_ defiant in his reception of the furious reprimand.

“You think he’s mad cus he lost his hat?” Dewa mused, and Chitose snorted loudly. “What?” He prodded, “I’d be at least a little pissed off if I lost _my_ hat.”

Chitose merely shook his head, and Masaomi was left with the impression that he was out of the loop on this one.  

It wasn’t until Mikoto and Tatara entered the room that Izumo finally put Yata down. Dewa observed his king, who had one sandwich in each hand and bit hungrily into one of them.

“Is it good?” Totsuka asked.

“Hm.” Mikoto considered, looking thoughtful. A feint pinkish tone began to surround his hand, and the color of the bread went from off-white to golden-brown. He took another bite, and then nodded, “Better toasted.”

Dewa promised to keep that in mind for later. Tatara had the cooler rolling behind him, and grinned welcomingly to the two new additions to the bar.

“You guys are _both_ on time!” He noted, smiling. “Here, you can split this bag of fruit snacks that King didn’t want.”

While Dewa himself was a bit uncomfortable with his good behavior being rewarded with treats – Chitose clearly had none of this hesitation, catching the bag jovially when it was tossed to them, and pouring them all out onto his hand, where he began sorting them by color and shape.

“You’re so weird…” Yata murmured, unable to take his eyes away from the obsessive compulsive behavior. “How are you one of the least organized people I know when you do _weird_ stuff like that?”

Dewa was honestly just glad that he didn’t have to verbally admit his distaste for fruit snacks, since Chitose was already aware of it. He didn’t want to see Tatara pout.

Over the next twenty minutes or so, the vast majority of HOMRA gathered. With no room left at the couch, they split up into groups, utilizing the chairs and the barstools.

Dewa found himself on the couch with Bando and Shohei, who had both arrived last and come running through the door as if they’d raced here. Which, after a few minutes of small-talk, he discovered they _had_. Halfway. Bando had just been sprinting because he was late – but Shohei, seeing him running as they happened to come to the same corner – had begun running as well, and then claimed victory when he opened the door first. Naturally, Bando argued that he hadn’t been aware they were racing in the first place, and so believed his friend was being childish and ridiculous.

Nothing new there.

“Something looks a little … _off_ , with Yata today. Don’t you think?” Shohei asked, squinting as he gazed across the room at their vanguard, who was flapping his gums about something or another with Fujishima and Eric.

“Eleven twenty-three.” Bando replied.

“Anxious to get going?” Dewa asked, not understanding the importance of the time.

“Nah, I’m just gonna time how long it takes dumb-ass over here to notice what’s _off_ Yata today.”

Shohei was still staring at the short teen with confusion. Chitose shook his head with what Dewa could only assume was disappointment.

“Is his hair more _red_ or something? Can his aura change his hair color?” Shohei brainstormed, cocking his head and biting his lip.

“If this guy manages to out-live any of us, I’m calling foul play.” Bando decided, earning a low chuckle from Dewa and more disappointed head-shaking from the fourth man on the couch.

“Where’s Kamamoto?” Dewa asked, looking around at everyone. Mikoto and Tatara were both leaning over the bar to look at something Kusanagi was showing them on his PDA as Mikoto finished off his second sandwich, and Yata, Fujishima, and Eric were at the four-seater talking. With himself, Chitose, Bando, and Shohei on the couch together and Anna upstairs – there was only one person missing.

“He said he was gonna be half an hour late in the group chat. Didn’t you read it?” Shohei asked.

“I blocked the group chat ages ago when Fujishima started using it to send us photos of cats all damn day.” He explained. He saw no need for the entirety of HOMRA to be in one collective text conversation when Kusanagi called them individually for important information.

“What’s wrong with cats?” Kosuke hollered back at him from across the room, having probably picked up on their conversation after hearing his own name mentioned.

“Nothing,” Dewa drawled, “When they have four legs and two eyes and ears.”

“Aish,” Chitose groaned, slapping his childhood friend playfully on the back of the head, “I promise he really _is_ a sympathetic person _sometimes_.”

“Of course I am,” Masaomi agreed, glancing over to Eric and making direct eye-contact, “I just don’t like filthy _strays_.”

Luckily – before the situation could escalate beyond its present level of tension, Kamamoto burst through the door, panting heavily. As it was summertime, he was sporting a very lean and handsome physique – but clearly not in enough shape to catch his breath.

“You would not _believe_ the traffic!” The usually-stout man announced.

“You don’t even have a car.” Yata pointed out.

Dewa snickered, “I guess that’s why we wouldn’t believe it.”

Anna trotted merrily down the steps and into the room, smiling kindly at everyone. “Ready?” She asked, heading to the door before they had a chance to answer.

**\- Mikoto Suoh -**

He liked walking with his hands in his pockets, but she always wanted to hold one. While a part of him wished that she would just hold Totsuka’s hand instead or something, a smaller, sweeter side was glad for the cool fingers against his skin. He had Anna on one side and Tatara on the other – which explained why he felt so calm and at ease, being as it was that he was surrounded by the two people that soothed him the most.

Good. He would hate for today to turn out unpleasant. Especially if it was his fault.

“Mikoto?” She called, tugging a little at his palm until he looked down and caught her gaze. Red. All _red_. She observed the same when she looked at him, he knew. A world of red. Her - blinded from everything else, and him - unable to stop painting the entire world that damned color. Red rage – licking at his ribs each and every day. They _both_ saw red. “Don’t get lost,” She warned, and he noticed the whiteness of the tresses framing her face. Not red. He gave her a half smile, understanding that she was referring to losing himself in his own mind and not the streets of Shizume City which he knew front to back and upside-down.

“I know the way home.” He answered, reaching over with his free hand and ruffling her hair affectionately.  

Tatara was of course beaming like an idiot, having witnessed the whole exchange. Honestly – what was he gonna do with that kid? With _any_ of these kids?

Hm. The Red King on the white throne. Their innocence: the only force of nature capable of combating his destruction. It was ironic, he believed, that he would burn up the entire world for the sake of the only people who could ever – _ever_ stop him.

The walk to the site for the carnival was brief, and the music bombarded ones ears as soon as you got close, and only increased in volume from there. He was glad for this. It was impossible to brood when surrounded by what sounded like a hundred blasting Ice-Cream trucks that just _wouldn’t stop_ circling the block. Unless, of course, you were brooding _about_ the happy-go-lucky tunes. Which he promptly proceeded to do.

Kusanagi offered up a large sum of cash at the ticket booth, providing them all with enough little paper stubs to have at least a good two hours of fun. Chitose immediately gave half of his to Anna – claiming that he intended to spend his time perusing the more estrogen-packed attractions; rather than the Ferris Wheel or whack-a-mole.

Mikoto mused that the man must not have realized how supremely more childish the other clansmen were compared to their princess. The tickets certainly would have been more of a benefit to Shohei, who had already run off towards a ring-tossing contest as soon as the bundle of carnival-currency was placed in his hand.

“We’re gonna meet at the picnic tables in the park across the street for lunch, okay? Two o’clock, guys. If you’re late you lose your first pick on sandwiches. So make sure you’re on time, cus it’ll suck if everyone else is on seconds and thirds and you’re left hungry – right?” Tatara had a very specific talent when it came to manipulating others with the threat of _hunger_. Mikoto noticed his lips moving as if he was taking a _head count_ which just went to show how utterly absurd it was that they were actually a gathering of _adult men._ “Somebody make sure that Shohei-Chan gets the memo, please?”

“I’ll do it,” Bando offered with an annoyed eye-roll, advancing towards the ring-toss whilst muttering adamantly about how _he_ was always the one stuck with chaperoning the town fool.

Everyone began drifting off into their own separate groups, and Anna pouted.

“I wish that just once when we went out, we would all stay together.” She admitted, eyes following Chitose and Yata as they headed to the kissing booth. With a light sigh, she smiled again. “Well, I’ll spend some time with you three first – since you didn’t walk away,” She decided, referring to Mikoto himself, along with Izumo and Tatara. “But I wanna spent time with _everybody_ so remind me in an hour to switch, okay?”

Kusanagi nodded in agreement, and Mikoto pulled out a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it before it even reached his lips and taking a deep inhale.

“What did you want to do first?” He asked.

“Teacups.” She responded without taking a single moment to weigh her options.

Tatara had somehow procured a map.

“Okay, teacups are just around this little loop-di-loop over _here_ and then a hard left. Let’s go!”

Mikoto followed behind his younger friend, relieved to see Izumo taking glances at the map and redirecting things a little bit, as he did not entirely trust Totsuka’s sense of direction. Not that the guy couldn’t get from point A to point B – more that it always seemed to take him a very, _very_ long time. The problem with Tatara’s sense of direction was definitely rooted within the word ‘ _Direct_.’

By some miracle (or subtle suggestions from Izumo) they made it to the teacups in only five minutes. The line wasn’t too long this early, which had been what they were hoping for when they’d decided to get here around noon instead of the much more populated evening crowd trying to avoid the peak of summer’s heat.

“That one.” Anna said, pointing to a teacup that was pale pink in color with red carnations adorning it’s design. They all got in, and the music started up – grating Mikoto’s nerves. There was a table in the center that you were supposed to spin, but it managed to circle around just fine with only Tatara and Izumo’s participation.

When they started spinning faster, Anna closed her eyes and leaned her head back, smiling.

So, Mikoto smiled too.


End file.
